


Both Away And Inside

by rymyanna



Series: Ache [1]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Bonding, Dark Magic, Escape, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Healing, M/M, Magic, Mild Blood, Past Relationship(s), Post-Season/Series 02, Scheming, Soul Bond, Telepathic Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-12 19:06:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18452756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rymyanna/pseuds/rymyanna
Summary: Locked in a prison cell, alone for days on end, Viren would have been driven insane if it weren’t for the voice living in his ear.(Viren got locked up for treason, Aaravos has been locked up for reasons unknown. They keep each other company, plot together, and bond. Is said bonding just dudes being bros or nah is up to interpretation)Part Two: Injured, Viren's forced to think about his life and his choices. Aaravos helps, but also really doesn't.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> I watched The Dragon Prince season 2 and then typed this up like I was possessed. The Mild Blood tag is for dubious magic practices, but it's nothing explicit. I might turn this into a series if I feel like it and people are interested. This'll probably fall under the Canon Divergence tag once season 3 hits.  
> Enjoy, I know I did :)

Viren had a high tolerance for solitude. He had practiced magic alone, done research alone, and planned alone. Kept his own counsel when the king had been too busy for him or when his children had needed time apart from him to grow up.

Being locked in the dungeons for days with a silent guard dropping off his meals turned out to be altogether different. Harder.

He spoke out loud just to have more stimulus. His conversational partner spoke to him through a bug living inside his ear. Magic worked in mysterious and disgusting ways.

 _Claudia_ , he thought, _Soren, where are you?_

“Your children,” Aaravos’ voice echoed through his ribcage and through the cell, both inside and all around.

“Yes,” Viren replied, his eyes directed at one of the stone walls that made up his current living arrangements. It was only a matter of time before he’d be ready to make his escape.

“You love them.” Spoken like a statement. Actually a question.

“Of course I do.”

“More than your kingdom, I wonder.”

“I…” _Of course, he had to, what kind of father would he be, otherwise_ , thoughts ran through his head and into Aaravos’, no doubt. “Yes,” Viren’s voice shook.

“And what kind of ruler, if you do not.”

He got up from his cot, to pace around the room. “What, exactly, are you insinuating?” It wasn’t uncommon, for Aaravos to reply to his thoughts instead of his words, but it still grated on him. He didn’t enjoy being seen through; what he did required the cover of darkness.

“I do not insinuate,” that voice said. It sounded like the absolute truth and the most heinous lie, simultaneously. “Nor will I judge, whatever the answer.”

Viren stopped in his tracks. “I find that hard to believe.” Everyone judged and looked at all his actions through narrowed eyes.

“And you always give up in the face of adversity.”

Somehow, in some deep part of him, Viren recognized the statement as a joke. It was challenging to tell, from the tone of voice alone, but apparently Aaravos had a sense of humor. _Sarcasm, interesting._      

“Is it.”

He sat back on his cot, covering his smile with his hand. Being in jail was no laughing matter.

(6)

The guards never looked at him when they brought him his meals. He had been a faithful servant for his whole life, and he didn’t even deserve to be acknowledged on the most basic level. Being brought food at all was a kindness in their eyes, he supposed, but it was the same kindness one afforded a cute stray animal.  

Aaravos started a discussion while Viren ate, “You gave them everything and they repaid you with nothing.”

“They’ll see the error of their ways.” He poked at a vegetable of some sort and thought, _But by then it might be too late._

“I am the same.”

“A servant locked up for serving?” _Or a traitor, unjustly accused._

“Precisely,” whispered the voice inside.

“Talk to me about it,” Viren requested. The silence was closing in again, he needed the conversation.

“Your story is an echo of mine, and thus you already know it.”

“Do you have to make everything into a riddle? Why not just talk to me, instead of being an enigma?” His ire was rising, even though he couldn’t afford being at odds with his sole company. To his relief, Aaravos sounded amused,

“You love riddles and enigmas.”

Inexplicably, Viren felt like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing, or thinking about doing. “I do.” _It’s just the loneliness_ , he told himself.

“It has a way of getting to you, the solitude,” Aaravos agreed.  

He placed the dinner tray back on the floor, where the guard would come to pick it up and replace it with a breakfast tray, come morning. “It does,” he admitted.

“But we are not alone.”

Viren stared at the wall opposite to the cot, same as every day, the runes and sigils meant to keep him imprisoned glowing. “No, we are not.”

And they were grateful for it.

(5)

Days passed and the time to break free was closing in. It felt as though Aaravos had some internal sense of how things were playing out, and Viren shared it. He wouldn’t have gotten as far in life as he had without being a tactician. Sharing was caring, and helping a prison buddy escape also fell under that heading.

So they discussed it, on yet another night Viren couldn’t sleep. The cot got harder every day and the cell was cold. What he wouldn’t give for a nice, soft bed and some warmth.  

“The mirror,” Viren stated.

“It is the only window to where I am held.”

He felt the need to whisper without knowing why. They were as alone as ever. “A window implies that it goes both ways, you couldn’t see me at first.” He knew, in the way that he sometimes just knew, that Aaravos was smiling.

“It is a window, but I will admit that hasn’t always been the case.”

Viren snorted; it wasn’t a sound for a man of his station, but he couldn’t help it. “What do I have to do to get a straight answer out of you?” And they had circled back to this; open communication, one of the foundations of a healthy relationship, or so he had read. _Not that this is a relationship, never mind their health._

“How about you try being honest with me, and with yourself,” Aaravos suggested, as innocent as he could make his voice sound. Which admittedly wasn’t very.

“Honesty for honesty?” Viren shot back.  

“The only fair trade there is.”

It wasn’t the only fair trade. “I’ll think on it.” He trusted his companion like he trusted the elements: with the knowledge that they could destroy him as well as help him.

“I know you will.”

“You always have to have the last word, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Their laughter carried in the dungeon, and within him. Once he got himself back together, he asked, “Does this window break?”

“It might.”

“With the right tools,” Viren finished the thought. He missed his books more than he missed sunlight.

He stalked the perimeter of his cell, eyeing the sigils meant to hold him at bay. They were the right ones for the job, as he had determined on the first day of his imprisonment. What they didn’t account for, was the soothing voice in his ear and the power their connection granted him. “And would those tools also break me out?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

(4)

Claudia and Soren visited him in the dungeons, under the careful watch of the guard. His daughter had a dragon horn she was more than willing to slip him, to aid him in his blight. His son wanted him to know that the horn was also from him, as he had been the one to cut it off.  He had such good kids.

“It should break the window,” Viren studied the horn once they were alone.

“You will need to follow my instructions to the letter.”

“As I have,” he pointed out.

“So far, or always,” Aaravos asked in his way of not asking.

Viren smiled, one corner of his mouth tugging up as though the expression wasn’t entirely his own. “Always, so far.”

Aaravos was silent for a moment, basking in their future escape and what waited beyond. He spoke, “You will need to cut it in half.”

“Lengthwise, I assume?” The horn in his hands was warm. Such was the nature of dark magic, and his companion, that Viren could see the grotesque design of what he was agreeing on. They both needed something to strike with, on their respective side of the glass. The bug had crawled out of Aaravos’ mouth. “Don’t worry, the staff might be my preferred weapon, but I can handle the blade.”

Aaravos hummed with satisfaction. “Both mighty weapons on their own right.”   

(3)

With Aaravos behind him, breaking out, procuring what they needed, and getting the mirror were easy tasks. Getting out his secret hideout proved harder.

“I can’t just blast through everyone, my children are out there,” Viren yelled at his companion still behind glass, face to face after such a long time spent just listening to his voice. Even in the haze of power, Viren realized that taking such a tone was pointless; both because Aaravos merely quirked an eyebrow in response and they didn’t need to shout to hear each other. They didn’t need to speak out loud to hear each other.

“We have other options.”

 _Will I ever get to hear it from you directly?_ Viren wondered, but it wasn’t the time, or the place, for thinking about anything aside from his ultimate goal.

Aaravos in the mirror smiled. “Succeed, and you shall,” said his voice. As far as rewards went, it shouldn’t count as anything compared to winning the war and securing the kingdom.

“I don’t see what other options we have.” It didn’t take long for Viren to feel the runes and the chant come out of him and flow through him. The power he wielded and the power Aaravos presented combined to whisk them away.

(2)

They resurfaced in a forest. Viren used his staff as a crutch to prevent himself from falling on his face. The mirror was leaning against a tree next to him. He collapsed on his knees in front of it just as Aaravos kneeled on the other side. They set up in silence, placing the items on the ground with care. A bowl for them to drink from and for him to bleed into, the dragon horn, cut in half, to name the important ones.

“This will hurt.”

“Everything worth doing does.”

They drew the runes together, as mirror images of each other. The weren’t ones Viren had ever seen, but his body followed through the movements as if they were his own. Their bowls sat on both sides, and with Aaravos mimicking the motions, Viren stabbed a half of the dragon horn into his chest. It hurt, but his mind was too lost to the power between them, in him, to feel any pain. He doubled over, gagging as the horn, point first, pushed its way up his throat and out through his mouth, through the blood in the bowl, and out of the twin bowl on the other side.

Dark magic the only thing keeping him from dying, Viren took his half of the horn and plunged it into the mirror as Aaravos did the same. The glass broke.

(1)

Viren had to be dead. His body was whole again and he was staring the universe in the face, as the universe looked back into him. _Beautiful._ He knew Aaravos was smiling, he could see it in the black holes staring into his eyes and feel it in a primal way, in his chest.

“Thank you, Viren.”


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viren is forced to lie down and talk about his feelings, while Aaravos is doing whatever it is he does, dropping by to talk to Viren about his feelings, and to trigger a bit of an existential crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to post Part Two as a separate oneshot, but then I decided not to (because this won't make sense if you haven't read Part One). Since this part features some Canon Typical Racism, I feel the need to point out that the views expressed by the characters, aren't the views of the author.  
> (I stole the line "She's everywhere and nowhere" from Hannibal, the TV series, because it's such a beautiful description of what the death of a loved one feels like)

The ritual hadn’t killed Viren, but it had come at a cost to his health. Aaravos, who was there, in the flesh, had set him up in a forest clearing, done something so when it rained, it didn’t rain on him, and when the wind blew past at night, it didn’t freeze him. He didn’t get hungry or thirsty. The forest creatures weren’t aware that he was there, lying on his back, looking up at the sky.

Aaravos was free to come and go. He left Viren’s side, and never really answered any questions pertaining to where he went. But he had always, so far, come back. At night when Viren was staring at the stars, wondering about when he’d be well enough to move, Aaravos would appear as though merging from the starry night. One moment he wasn’t quite there, and the next he was.

“I consider your debt to me, repaid,” he said, as though carrying on a conversation that had started without Viren.

If he hadn’t been in a weakened state, he’d be much faster on the uptake. “My debt, to you,” Viren repeated, his lip curling up. They had freed each other from prison, and Aaravos had lent Viren his power, but that had only been after Viren had discovered the mirror in the first place. Without him, Aaravos would still be imprisoned.

But then, without having discovered the mirror’s true nature when he had, Viren might well be locked up, with no backup. Admitting that they were even was harder than he could’ve imagined.

“Yes.” Aaravos’ smile had sharp edges. “How well you must know your ancestry.”

Thrown for a loop at the non-sequitur, Viren thought about it and there was nothing. He had memories of his past and the people that belonged in it, like any person, but it had also always just been him and Harrow, with the brief period that had been his wife and now his children. “I…” It was unsettling, to not be sure where his roots were and how far they reached. “Not that well.”

After arranging his robes, Aaravos sat on the ground next to him. “I thought as much.”

“How well do you know my ancestry?” Viren challenged.

“I know near countless things.”

Annoyed with his own slowness, he spat out his next words, “Stop doing that! Always with the vagaries with you.”

“Always,” Aaravos answered, raising his eyebrows in mock-surprise. “We have known each other for such a long time, certainly long enough for you to make statements about what I am always like.” While his tone wasn’t angry, Viren knew that if they did argue, Aaravos would win.

“I am not,” he paused, closed his tired eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that, but I do think I know you, at least moderately well, from what we went through.” Viren’s blood between them, the mutual aid. _It has to count for something._

“You are right.”

Before he could muster the courage to open his eyes, he felt Aaravos’ hand on them and it filled him with relief.

(0?)

Aaravos was an elf, and as such untrustworthy. _And yet_ , Viren didn’t continue the thought.

“And yet,” the stars above were like freckles on a face.

Viren startled, despite how he should’ve been used to Aaravos’ entrances by now. “Must you do that?” he snapped. At least his companion was sitting down, so instead of being a looming mountain, he was merely a tower.  

Aaravos smiled in a way that told Viren the answer was _yes_.

Elves were always going on about how humans were the evil ones. Like they had any right to judge, when they had been the oppressors. “Do you ever think the world would be a better place without us?” If there ever was a time to talk to an elf about the matter, one he could tolerate. _More than_ , corrected he himself, the traitor. The time was now.

Aaravos tilted his head, and performed by anyone else, the gesture would have looked innocent, curious. “I like humans.”

“Why?” Viren knew his own reasoning, there, but he was human. Naturally, he put his own kind above everyone else. “And how? Don’t you see us beneath you?” Humans weren’t connected to the primal sources, therefore, according to elven logic, they were a sub-people of some sort.

There was that smile again, the _And Yet_ smile. “In a literal sense.”

Had Viren been in better health, he would have swatted him. For the cheek, and for his compelling face. But alas, Viren wasn’t, so he just rolled his eyes, “Ugh.”

“A scholar and a poet.” The smile grew, and some higher power help him, Viren was smiling, too.

(0?)

Another night, another soul-baring.

“Tell me about yours, and I will tell you about mine.”

Not today, Aaravos. “How about you tell me something first, and I’ll tell you something in return.”

“I can come back another day,” Aaravos prepared to leave.

_Dammit_ , Viren cursed at being called out on his bluff. He didn’t want to be left behind. “No, wait. Wait.” What was he supposed to tell? _The truth._

Above him, Aaravos looked on, patient and unmoving.

“Well, as you are probably aware, I had a wife, for a time, and I have two children from that union.” He sounded stilted, even to his own ears.

“You had a wife.”

“Yes, I mean, she’s not dead, she went back home, to her parents.” _And I haven’t seen her since,_ the thought came unbidden.

“You are at odds.”

“We didn’t see eye to eye, on a lot of things, and I suppose we still don’t.” Not that he had tried to reconnect with her. Not that she had tried to reconnect with him. Some things just couldn’t be fixed, and there was no magic that controlled the heart.

His companion faced up, toward the night sky, and there was a moment where they both observed the heavens, silent.

Viren breathed in deep. “It wasn’t a marriage of convenience, not entirely, but by the end it did feel more like a chore,” he admitted, keeping his voice down. “At least I still have the kids,” or did he? As much as he wanted to nudge Aaravos to get his attention, he couldn’t spare the energy. “Your turn.”

Another moment of silence. “The life span of my kind is vast enough to make forming outside bonds an unwise decision.”

Before the surge of anger at being cheated out of learning anything new could take hold, Viren remembered that reading between the lines was key. “Unwise, maybe, but not unheard of.”

Aaravos turned his face back towards Viren, smiling. “She was my favorite.” The smile was genuine, but it wasn’t entirely directed at the present company.

“She _was_ your favorite.”

“Life is just a blink of an eye,” Aaravos conceded. “She is everywhere and nowhere.”

Viren watched him, careful to catalogue any tiny nuance of expression. There was no sadness and a deep well of it, at the same time. That knowledge didn’t make sense to him, but he had it. “How do you deal with, with something like that?” He’d admit that he wasn’t the best at emotions.

“My life is better for her having been in it.”

It sounded so simple, yet it required a level of detached objectivity that Viren liked to think he had. He just didn’t have it on such grand a scale. Unsure of what else to say, he went with, “I’m sorry for your loss.” It was a bit of a platitude, but his friend seemed to appreciate it anyway.

“That means more to me than you can know.”

(0)

Viren managed to sit up. He felt weak, but he could move, the injury a star-shaped scar on his chest. It was time to go, get whatever bits of his life he could salvage sorted out. Prevent his kingdom from falling into ruin, if that was even something he’d be capable of anymore. If it wasn’t too late.

If he hadn’t aided the destruction.

“Having second thoughts.”

He guessed he was getting used to the sudden appearances for this time he didn’t jump. That high. “And third, and fourth,” Viren admitted. The scar itched so he rubbed at it.

“Doubt is natural.” Aaravos moved to stand in front of him. Viren had to lean back on his arms to look him in the eye.

“You don’t seem to experience any.” It was a gentle stab. Aaravos laughed, and Viren’s chest ached.

“I should have phrased that better.”

“Added a footnote? Applies to everyone, with the exception of Aaravos.” Viren could vision it; that same note, popping up everywhere.

“Archmage Aaravos, please. The footnote would use my title.”

_Titles, right._ “Is that what I should address you as?” _King_ Harrow, _your highness_ , corrected the image of his former friend.

“Only if you insist I address you as Lord Viren,” Aaravos replied, before Viren had time to really dwell in those memories. He could’ve slumped back down, to lie in the grass, like a tension in him had been cut.

He grinned. “Maybe if you really anger me.”

Aaravos smiled down at him. “The same applies both ways, then.” He extended his arm, quirking an expectant eyebrow when Viren didn’t take it right away. “Come now.”

After a quick glance between the offered arm and his weakened legs, Viren reached up.     

 


End file.
